


Sweetspark

by TheDarkSideofEnergon



Series: AUgust Insanity [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: (they ship it as much as crabs can), AU, Fluff and Angst, Good Communication Skills, Hurt/Comfort, Jazz Knows People, M/M, also the hermit crabs are back, like they actually talk things through
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 00:49:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20537435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkSideofEnergon/pseuds/TheDarkSideofEnergon
Summary: Living together for twelve deca-cycles doesn't necessarily mean that you'll figure out that your roommate likes you.Jazz certainly hasn't. And neither has Prowl.The crabs probably know though.Continuation of College/Roommates from Transforming AUgust.





	Sweetspark

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third and (probably) final part of the College/Roommates storyline from AUgust (days 2 and 20 if you need a refresher or haven’t read them!). Behold -- Hermit Crabs: The Fluffening! (with angst and hurt but comfort and a little fluff too).

Jazz vented lightly as he laid on his berth, letting his crabs crawl on his plating as he looked across at Prowl’s closed door.

Twelve deca-cycles. They’d lived together _ twelve deca-cycles _ , and Jazz still couldn’t get it through his roommate’s _ logical processor _ that he _ liked _ him. 

Really, _ really _ liked him.

Jazz huffed in frustration. The crabs stilled at the sudden movement. He nudged them. “Nah, it’s not ya, beasties.” He calmed a bit as he talked to the crabs. “Why doesn’t he see it? I bring him crystals, sure I said they were for that window in th’ livin’ room, but I don’t even like crystals, he does. Made him his favorite treats last time he got sick. I ask him t’ go t’ concerts an’ plays an’ for drinks, an’ he just says ‘_ I’ll see ya when ya get back _ ” or ‘ _ Don’t get too overcharged _ .’” Jazz vented again, more softly as the crabs continued their journey across his plating. “Maybe he’s just lettin’ m’ down easy.” That thought made his spark drop. _ Please, let Prowl just be completely and utterly oblivious _, Jazz thought as he went back to staring at Prowl’s door. It would be so easy to go over there, knock, tell him how he felt, kiss sense into him.

Maybe not that last one.

Jazz didn’t want to be blunt (the rejection was so much worse then), but maybe that was the only way to get a straight answer out of Prowl. 

Jazz carefully gathered up his crabs into his hands before standing up and starting across the room, determined to simply get it out in the open, when Prowl’s door opened suddenly, making Jazz immediately shift his focus to his crabs, setting them back into their tank right next to the door. Prowl stood in his doorway, staring at Jazz for a moment before he went storming out to the living room. Jazz bounced back and forth between going out and talking to Prowl, finding out what was wrong, or just staying in here and avoiding the explosion. 

Then he heard banging in their kitchen, cupboards being opened and shut _ hard _, and Jazz’s decision was made for him. Shuddering, he shut his own door and went back to his berth, putting some music on in his internal speakers to drown out Prowl’s angry baking. 

He’d talk to the mech _ after _ the cookies and rust sticks were done.

Accordingly, about a joor later, Jazz turned off his music and poked his helm out of his door. There was still noise in the kitchen, but it had gone from _ planning to rip someone’s helm off _ to _ severely annoyed _. Steeling himself for a fight, Jazz sauntered out to the kitchen.

“What’s up, Prowler?”

Jazz’s cheerful greeting was met with a death-glare from Prowl and a string of muttered profanities, none of which seemed to be leveled at Jazz in particular, so he sat down and picked up a cookie, munching on it until his roommate’s tirade calmed down. 

At least he wasn’t flipping a table or anything.

In the middle of the profanity-laced rant, Jazz picked up a few tidbits that turned him on to what the situation was: the “glitched pit-spawn” (Jazz had only heard that particular descriptor used for Barricade, Prowl’s Sire, so he assumed that was the case here), had suggested (read: demanded) that Prowl come back to Praxus for the Feasts, mentioning that it would be a shame to cancel Bluestreak’s (Prowl’s younger brother) visit out to Iacon if he didn’t. And the understanding was that he would come alone, not with anyone else. 

Only one thing caught Jazz off guard. In the bit where it was stated that Prowl would going alone, Prowl said, “And the pit-spawn even had the audacity to suggest that my courtmate would not be coming, which is complete and utter slag and if Bluestreak wasn’t on the table I’d tell him to shove it up his aft.”

Jazz choked on his cookie. “Courtmate?”

Prowl stopped. Looked at Jazz. Cycled his optics. “That’s what he said.”

Jazz, spark sinking, decided to play it cool. “Ya meet somemech while I wasn’t lookin', Prowler?”

The two stared at each other in silence for a klik. Then Prowl sat down and started laughing, optical fluid pooling.

“I can’t believe he thought we were courting.” Prowl managed to get out between laughs.

Jazz cycled his optics. _ Them? _ He forced himself to laugh too. “Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“As if you were interested in me.”

Jazz’s spark and engine stuttered, his fake laughter dying as quickly as it came. “What do ya mean, Prowler?”

Prowl hiccuped, laughter dissolving into just tears. “As much as I like arguing with you, that’s all we ever do. How do you even stand living with me? Why did you even talk to me in the first place? It’s hardly worth it.”

Jazz slid off his chair and knelt next to Prowl, reaching out and grabbing his hands. “Prowler, ya aren’t thinkin’ right right now. Ya need energon an’ some recharge. I’d be happy t’ have this conversation, but _not_ when yer in this state. Now, Barricade is a messed up slagger, but Bluestreak’s almost in college himself. An’ ya already know he’s comin’ t’ Iacon like ya did, an’ then Barricade can’t tell him not t’ visit. So let’s get ya in berth an’ rechargin’, okay?”

Prowl, too emotionally out of it to argue, just nodded and let Jazz pull him back to his room, where Jazz helped him lie down, before arranging all the pillows to make Prowl as comfortable as possible. Prowl just hummed, and Jazz knew that was all the thanks he was going to get at the moment. He stood to go, but Prowl reached out and grabbed his hand.

“Stay?” Prowl’s optics were offline, so he couldn’t see Jazz’s pained expression.

How he wanted to hear those words in a different context.

So he just nodded, knowing Prowl couldn’t see it. “Until yer in recharge.”

Prowl relaxed. Jazz reached out, tentatively, and stroked Prowl’s helm, earning another hum. He continued to do so until he heard Prowl’s engine started to settle into a smooth, low purr, indicating that he was in recharge or very close to it. Jazz vented lightly.

“Prowler. Oh, Prowler, sweetspark. What am I gonna do with ya?” Fairly certain that Prowl was in recharge, Jazz leaned down, and, hesitating for just a moment, pressed a kiss to his helm before standing up, tiptoeing to the door and shutting it quietly, sinking down to the floor on the other side, pulling his knees up to his chest.

Prowl didn’t think he liked him. More specifically, Prowl didn’t think he was worth being liked. Jazz’s spark felt like it was going to break as he sat there, guarding Prowl’s door for one breem, then ten, then a joor. Maybe he hadn’t always liked Prowl, but he’d known from the first time he slept on Prowl’s floor that he couldn’t imagine functioning without him anymore. He’d been unable to recharge that night, and he had spent a solid three joors just watching Prowl recharge. Prowl, normally so tense, angry, distant, had relaxed completely, mouth open just a tiny bit, doorwings flicking every now and then as his engine purred, only to shift up a gear every now and then before settling again.

It had been a beautiful sight. Jazz had finally gone into recharge with a smile on his face, hoping he’d get another chance to see it.

And he had. Several times. But not since they’d moved in together, and Jazz wanted more. He wanted to be the reason why Prowl looked like that, not just while he was in recharge, but when he was awake as well. Jazz sniffed and retracted his visor, wiping his optics before huffing in annoyance. Acting like a spark-broken mechling. He moved to stand up, and the door behind him opened, making him fall backwards and reengage his visor in surprise, looking up at Prowl, who was looking significantly less hysterical and now just a little tired.

“Why are you lying on my floor, Jazz?”

Jazz forced himself to grin. “Ya opened yer door.”

“Perhaps I should rephrase. Why were you leaning on my door in the first place?” 

Jazz shrugged, sitting up, but not standing. “Dunno.”

Prowl’s wings twitched. “Were you guarding me?”

“...Maybe?”

Prowl vented. “Come in.” He stepped away from the door and back to the berth, sitting on the edge of it. Jazz moved to sit next to him.

Prowl didn’t seem inclined to speak first, so Jazz began.

“‘M assumin’ ya weren’t so out of it as t’ forget yer rant earlier.”

Prowl’s doorwings drooped. So, no. Jazz, feeling less bold than when Prowl was in recharge, reached out and grabbed one of Prowl’s hands.

“I have a couple things t’ say before ya say anythin’ else, Prowler. An’ don’t interrupt, okay?”

Prowl opened his mouth to speak, but then shut it, doorwings still drooping.

“First of all, Prowler, I never want ya t’ think I’m just takin’ pity on ya or whatever. Yes, we argue, but if I didn’t like t’ argue with ya, do ya really think I would have moved in with ya?”

Prowl slowly shook his helm, and Jazz continued.

“I moved in with ya because I like ya, Prowler. I talked with ya because ya needed a friend. Ya still need a friend, Prowler. Me too. I told ya it’s just been m’ an’ Rico since we were mechlings.” Jazz took a breath. “An’ as for m’ not bein’ interested, I can assure ya that’s hardly th’ case. I like ya, Prowler. A lot. I tried t’ ask so many times, but ya always turned m’ down.” He squeezed Prowl’s hand. “Now, answer m’ this: did ya turn m’ down because ya weren’t interested, or because ya had convinced yerself that I was just bein’ friendly?”

Prowl’s wings twitched once, twice, three times. “...The latter.” He said, quietly. “I didn’t want to lose you as a friend, Jazz.”

Jazz squeezed his hand again. “Ya haven’t, Prowler.” Tentatively, Jazz reached up and traced Prowl’s face. Prowl offlined his optics and leaned into the touch. “An’ we can discuss that when yer feeling yerself again. Right now, ya need fuel.” He stood up, pulling Prowl to his pedes with him. “Come on. Let’s find ya somethin’ besides rust sticks or cookies.”

* * *

The next morning, Jazz was sitting on the couch, playing his guitar for his hermit crabs, who were in their portable container on the table, when Prowl walked in, doorwings flicking anxiously.

“I am in a normal frame of processor.” Was all the warning Jazz got before Prowl sat down next to him. Jazz leaned forward to place his guitar on the table next to the crabs before turning to Prowl.

“So, what do ya want t’ discuss first? Barricade and Bluestreak, or this?” Jazz made a gesture between himself and Prowl. 

Prowl’s lips twitched. “We may as well discuss the unpleasant business first.” His doorwings flicked in amusement, though there was still the after-movement of anxiety.

Jazz chuckled as he leaned back against the couch cushions before he turned serious. “So what are ya gonna do?”

Prowl vented. “I don’t know. I don’t want to have to go another full year without seeing Bluestreak, but neither do I want to return to Praxus simply because Sire is demanding it. In fact, I would greatly prefer to not return to Praxus under those circumstances. It sets a precedent.”

Jazz nodded. “I understand.” He thought for a moment. “Would it be possible t' move Bluestreak’s visit up?”

Prowl hesitated. “...If he could get an early admission decision to Iacon University, it could be argued that he needs to come in for registration and a campus tour.”

A smile started to grow on Jazz’s face. “Has he turned in his application?”

“He did so two orns ago. Jazz, why are you smiling?”

Jazz whipped out a comm system and started typing. “I know a mech.”

“Jazz, _ what are you doing _?”

“Relax, Prowler. ‘M just sendin’ a friendly message t’ th’ president of th’ school. Askin’ him how he’s doin’, apologizin’ for hoverboardin’ on campus, askin’ if he’d be willin’ t’ look at an application as I think this mech would be a real asset t’ th’ school, especially th’ shootin’ team…”

“Jazz, you can’t abuse connections for this. How do you even _ know _ the president?”

“Optimus? He’s a solid mech. Helped m’ out with m’ recommendation letters. How do ya think I got that music scholarship?”

Prowl cycled his optics. “And I ask again,_ how do you know him _ ? _ Please _ tell me you didn’t run him over.”

Jazz grinned. “Nah. Made an appointment th’ first week of school an’ waltzed in t’ introduce myself. Went back once a deca-cycle t’ chat.”

Prowl vented and rubbed his optics. “I can’t believe you did that.”

Jazz shrugged. “An’... sent.” He put away his comm system, still grinning. “So that’s solved for th’ moment. We’ll see what Optimus says.” He leaned a little closer to Prowl. “Want t' discuss th' pleasant business?”

Prowl’s hand was still over his optics, but his lips twitched. “Yes.”

“Gonna have t’ look at m’, Prowler.” Jazz teased. Prowl dropped his hand, and Jazz hummed. “That’s better.” He reached out and took Prowl’s hand. How quickly that was becoming comfortable to do.

“You called me sweetspark.” Prowl said, bluntly.

Jazz coughed, almost dropping Prowl’s hand. “I… thought ya were in recharge?”

Prowl shook his helm. “Not quite.” He ran his thumb over Jazz’s hand. “Say it again?”

“...What?”

“I want to hear you say it to my face.” Prowl said, looking Jazz in the optics. Jazz’s fans stuttered.

“Sweetspark?” Jazz whispered.

Prowl’s wings fluttered. “Yours.” He said.

Jazz felt like his glossa was caught in sticky toffee, but he still managed to form a thought. “So ya like m’ too, Prowler?”

Prowl nodded, dropping his helm. “Very much. You _and_ your crabs.” He smiled, just a little bit, as Jazz chuckled, looking over at the tub with the unusually still beasties. Prowl’s thumb moved in small circles on Jazz’s hand. “Where do we go from here, Jazz?”

“Wherever ya want, Prowler. _ Sweetspark _.” Jazz added, making Prowl’s doorwings flutter again. He didn’t think he would be tired of that reaction anytime soon.

“Would you kiss me?” Prowl whispered. 

“Ya only have t’ ask.”

“Kiss me.”

**Author's Note:**

> The crabs know all.


End file.
